


Like Starting Over

by richiebeepbeep



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentioned Pennywise (IT), Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richiebeepbeep/pseuds/richiebeepbeep
Summary: Mike took one of his hands in his own, entwining their fingers. Bill felt entirely flammable, like all the alcohol was threatening to set him alight. He turned his head to look at Mike, trying to understand what the look in his eyes meant. All those books at university and Bill couldn’t put to words what he saw there.Or, Bill Denbrough is eager to forget Derry, ME because he has yet to find something worth remembering.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Like Starting Over

The first time Bill left Derry, it was for a week-long trip to the sunny state of California with Richie. The year was 1992 and Wentworth Tozier’s brother, infinitely cooler than anyone Bill had ever met, invited Richie-and-a-friend to visit his family in Westwood. Richie had two cousins around his age, so as a group they’d be spending spring break doing whatever their fickle hearts desired.

Bill didn’t presume to be Richie’s first choice in company. (Stanley’s parents just didn’t like the idea of two teenage boys running around an unfamiliar city unsupervised. Eddie’s mother would sooner drop dead than let him step an inch past the Derry town limits.) Still, he was more than glad to get the fuck out of town for a while.

The rest of the Losers, jealous but excited for them, asked Bill and Richie to call and to bring back souvenirs. They agreed, of course. Ben wanted a postcard. Stan wanted a t-shirt. Eddie wanted some candy. Mike wanted a keychain. Beverly had moved away a couple of years ago, but Richie swore he’d snag a pack of menthols in her honor. Bill promised to bring the remaining Losers as much Californian bullshit as their suitcases could carry.

It was fun — really, truly fun! Richie’s cousins took the two of them to see everything from the less-than-impressive Walk of Fame to Disneyland Park. Bill even rubbed Richie’s back as he leaned halfway into a trash bin outside of Space Mountain. They hadn’t even ridden it yet. Richie was just nervous, and Bill knew that lately his friend had begun to, well, _puke his guts out_ at anything that gave him anxiety. It was worrying to say the least, but Richie ended up loving the coaster so much he made Bill and his cousins ride it twice more that night.

When they finally touched down in Maine again, their suitcases were stuffed fuller than when the trip began. Almost immediately after crossing the Derry town limits, Richie sat up straight and bumped his head on the top of the car.

“Fuck!” Richie said, whipping his head toward Bill. “I forgot —“

“Th-thuh-their souvenirs,” Bill finished.

And they had. To their horror, Bill and Richie unzipped suitcases filled with things they had bought for themselves but not their friends. Strangely, almost embarrassingly, Bill realized that he hadn’t thought about the Losers even _once_ during the trip. Neither did Richie bring them up in conversation. They had forgotten to call.

In the end, they had given up some of the things they’d bought without the Losers in mind. None the wiser and unwilling to complain, their friends accepted the offered gifts with thanks. They had collectively figured that Bill and Richie were just too busy enjoying themselves to call, so nobody held it against them. Bill could tell that Richie felt both rotten for forgetting all about Eddie and a bit disappointed with having to give up _his_ new t-shirt for Stan.

Bill didn’t feel the same. He simply couldn’t be assed to feel horrified by anything Derry could do to him at this point. It had taken and taken from him until Bill had lost his baby brother and childhood both, so what was the point of crying over his fucking memory? Forgetting about the Losers meant forgetting about _everything_, Georgie and IT included. So Bill gave Ben a stack of postcards he’d picked up on Hollywood Boulevard with a smile, and accepted Mike’s warm hug in return for the Mickey Mouse keychain. They were just things, stuff that he could get more of the next time he left Derry.

After that trip, he knew he’d be taking more.

The second and third times Bill left Derry, they were to scout potential college campuses. His grades had been consistently good enough that he might have been able to pull a decent amount of scholarships, as well as get into an impressive school. He was far more excited than the rest of the Losers to welcome adulthood, because it meant welcoming Derry’s curse. As his father drove him south toward New York one Saturday morning, Bill wondered if his old man wanted to welcome it too.

The fourth time Bill left Derry was to attend college at Columbia University.

He hadn’t made any promises to call or write, but Bill had once overheard Richie sniffling while he told Eddie he’d do all of that and more as soon as he could. He could hear the edge of desperation in Richie’s voice, as if he were trying to will his promise into existence — make it tangible, make it real — so he wouldn’t forget about it the minute he left town. Bill realized then that Richie knew _exactly_ what would happen when he left, that he’d remembered what happened after getting back from California and put two-and-two together. It was sweet, albeit sort of confusing to Bill. There was something between Richie and Eddie that Bill couldn’t articulate to save his life, something different from the bond the rest of the Losers shared. Even so, Bill understood that Richie probably would have packed Eddie into his suitcase if he could have.

Richie remembered, and he would actively resist it as long as he could. Bill could _not_ relate.

He said goodbye to Mike last, because Ben had moved away in junior year and Stan had taken off a week prior. Neither had called, which had clearly disappointed Mike. He was stuck in Derry for the foreseeable future due to the expectation of eventually taking on the responsibilities of his family farm. It had been downright tragic to watch Mike’s hopes of escaping to Florida dwindle to nothing as reality set in, heavy as stone. He’d broken his leg a couple of years ago, so there went the possibility of a sports scholarship and getting out with the rest of the Losers. Still, Mike was happy for his friends, because _of course he was_.

The goodbye was intended to be short and sweet, but Mike had convinced Bill to stick around for dinner. He hadn’t needed to try very hard. One look, a hand on his shoulder, and Bill would pull the moon down from the sky for him. His smile could light up the night, anyway. He was, Bill realized as he noticed the worn-out Mickey Mouse keychain sitting on Mike’s nightstand, his dearest friend.

Dinner was a plate of pasta and some garlic bread that they made and ate on the porch. Well, _Mike_ had made the pasta and garlic bread, but Bill had remembered to take the toasted bread out of the oven while Mike was still mixing the pasta and sauce. Of all of the Losers, Mike was hands-down the best at cooking. Stan was too methodical, so he could make a dish correctly, but sometimes at the cost of tasting bland and lifeless. Richie was so distractible he’d once put two cups of salt into a batch of cookies instead of sugar. Eddie wasn’t allowed near the stove at home and expressed little interest in cooking outside of it, so Bill assumed he’d cook like shit someday. Ben had been okay at cooking, just perfectly inoffensive, mediocre, average. None of them held a candle to Mike.

Bill had been Mike’s partner in home economics in high school, which was a very nice thing to be. He and Mike sometimes finished their cooking assignments early and sat back to watch Stan and Richie lose their fucking minds across the classroom scrambling to finish. Stan was ice and Richie was fire, so their concoctions always turned out looking and tasting nothing like they should. Mike used to elbow Bill gently and whisper, “Look at Richie, he’s doing it again.” And Richie was inevitably sabotaging the recipe while Stan was away at the sinks, washing his hands for the fourth time that period. Meanwhile, Bill would feel goosebumps rise along both arms and up his spine at the small touch.

He remembered that touch while they were sitting under the dim glow of the porch light with empty plates, and he rubbed his arm while Mike asked him what he thought leaving Derry would be like.

“Luh-like starting o-over, I think.” Bill answered.

Mike smiled, not very wide, and the shadows on his face made it hard to see if it entirely reached his eyes.

“I can’t wait,” Bill admitted.

Bill finally welcomed forgetting with open arms, but his ignorance didn’t last forever, much to his annoyance. He loathed returning to Derry for holidays because he always seemed to recall his every trauma as soon as he arrived.

Over the nearly month-long break between his fall and spring semesters freshman year, Bill and Mike spent a night on the roof of the Hanlon family farmhouse with a stolen bottle of whiskey. They watched the stars and talked about everything. They spoke in sad, low tones about how Eddie had come back from a single semester of college only to announce that he’d be dropping out to stay with his mother.

“Her health is declining,” Eddie had claimed a week prior, when the returning Losers had awkwardly gathered for lunch at the local diner, trying to pick up where they left off.

Bill didn’t believe it either, but Mike surprised him by saying it out loud as they were lying down together on the roof.

“That woman is going to wring the life out of her son,” Mike frowned, and Bill wanted to wipe the look off of his face.

“Yeah, sh-she’s probably l-l-luh-luh —”

“She’s a liar,” Mike turned his frown toward Bill, and suddenly Bill wanted to _kiss_ the look off of his face. “Everybody knows Eddie was never sick. Everybody, and none of us did a damn thing about it. Now he’s dropping out.”

_Drunk_, Bill thought as he nodded in silent agreement with both Mike’s words and his slow thoughts. _I am drunk_.

“Big Bill?” Mike reached out and Bill’s heart palpitated, but he was just grabbing the whiskey bottle. He put the cap on and set it aside and then Mike scooted closer, close enough that Bill could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Y-yeah, Mikey?”

“I’m gonna miss you when you leave again,” Mike said, and Bill wondered what he knew.

“I’m gonna m-muh-miss you t-too,” Bill replied.

To his surprise, Mike shook his head. “No you won’t.” He smiled and Bill had to look away, because somehow it was worse than the frown.

“No,” Bill swallowed, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. “I won’t.”

“You knew, didn’t you? The first time you and Richie left Derry, you realized what happened. That you forgot.” Mike’s tone was suddenly too serious, and Bill felt like he were suffocating, so he sat up and looked down at the roof shingles.

“I-I —” Bill pursed his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, M-Mikey. I knew.”

“You knew,” Mike repeated, and then: “How come you keep running away? Why are you so eager to forget?”

Bill couldn’t bring himself to look back at Mike’s face. “Because I …”

He couldn’t explain himself, but he didn’t have to. Mike knew the reason.

When he laid back down against the roof, Mike took one of his hands in his own, entwining their fingers. Bill turned his head to look at him, trying to understand what the look in Mike’s eyes meant. All those books at university and Bill couldn’t put to words what he saw there.

Not quite knowing what he was doing, Bill leaned in and pressed his mouth to Mike’s. His lips were soft and Bill could feel him hesitate before moving them in return. Mike brought his free hand up between them to cup Bill’s face, his thumb stroking his jaw.

Bill felt entirely flammable, like all the alcohol was threatening to set him alight.

They parted and it felt too soon. Mike’s voice was calming, “Why would you do that, Bill?”

“Becuh-cause I’ll f-f-f-forget anyway,” Bill confessed.

“But I won’t.” Mike frowned, so Bill frowned, and then they kissed their frowns away.

The fifth time Bill left Derry, he resolved to stop counting and hope it would be the very last.

When his parents moved to live closer to the extended Denbrough family all the way down in Albuquerque, it nearly was. Bill didn’t return to Derry until 2016, when Mike Hanlon called to summon the Lucky Seven to kill a clown for good. He was married by then, to a perfectly lovely woman that he knew he didn’t treat right deep down. Bill never wanted to admit he didn’t think their marriage was worth the hassle of saving, because he frankly hadn’t noticed when it was first in danger of failing.

Beverly Marsh kissed him and she tasted like menthol cigarettes. She tasted like childhood, but they weren’t children anymore.

They killed the clown. The clown killed Eddie. IT had killed Stan too, which Bill felt absurdly responsible for despite the fact that he hadn’t seen the man in almost thirty years. IT had killed so many, IT had an infinite and completely forgotten body count. Bill watched Richie fall apart with 29 Neibolt Street, Mike and Ben holding him back from running into the rubble, and he suddenly understood.

He understood that previously unarticulated _thing_ between Richie and Eddie. Bill also understood that it had died, another victim of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Evil had gotten the last laugh. Unfortunately, Bill understood that even if they all forgot each other after leaving Derry again, Richie would be mourning that dead, neglected _love_ for the rest of his life.

Bill selfishly refused to do the same. He went home to Los Angeles and he didn’t forget after all, so he ended his marriage with Audra. That would serve to make the press junket process awkward, but it would be unfair to Audra to wait any longer.

He received a letter in the mail from Patricia Uris, a woman he had never spoken to but he felt an indescribable connection to. She had known Stan, _loved_ Stan, just the same and more than Bill had. Mike’s call was a surprise, the timing perfect, and when he said he loved him Bill didn’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Mikey.” His heart was heavy, full to bursting with love and love and love.

Mike would be leaving Derry the following day. Bill, with time to spare and a net worth that grew by the day, decided to surprise Mike by heading back there. The town still had a sort of negative energy to it, like a shower drain that had been unclogged but was still damaged by the lye. But it couldn’t hurt him anymore, couldn’t spit his trauma back at him. Bill caught Mike on his way out by sheer coincidence and called him from across the gas station parking lot. Mike looked around, turned until he spotted Bill’s rental car, and then he smiled.

The last time Bill left Derry, he brought Mike with him.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for migz!
> 
> if you'd like to request a short fic for your favorite IT pairing, check out [this post](https://richiebeepbeep.tumblr.com/post/188996675283/eddietczier-send-me-an-it-pairing-a-number) and send me an ask!


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